


In Service To A Prince

by merry_moo



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Coming of Age, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Promise it'll get spicy eventually, Romance, Royal Tropes to Come, Royalty, Servant to something more, Slow Burn, Vegeta is Vegeta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:01:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23192851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_moo/pseuds/merry_moo
Summary: On Planet Vegeta, you are a humble servant who wishes to become a seamstress for the royal court. After years of training you are finally tasked with a large project to prove your skill, making Prince Vegeta's coming of age attire. Despite the Prince's gruff attitude, you are determined to make this project perfect, even if it means bending over backwards to get Vegeta to work with you. In doing so, you catch his attention, and soon being a royal seamstress in the future may change to a royal handmaiden.
Relationships: Vegeta (Dragon Ball) & Reader, Vegeta (Dragon Ball)/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 48





	1. Humble Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first attempt at a story, I hope you all enjoy, and I hope to update either weekly or bi-weekly!  
> This is my attempt to do a royal romance, so buckle up buttercups!

For years servitude never seemed to be cumbersome. To some degree fear was present from the threat of your life but remaining a servant as long as you have left some comfort in your position- especially considering you were born into it. Of course, as an infant you weren’t expected to run around and bow to the royal’s wishes, but after a few years of childhood and training you were slowly allowed to begin to do minor tasks, such as pressing linens and cleaning floors. Little tasks turned into larger responsibilities as you grew older, specializing within the palace as the seamstress’ apprentice. Year after year you studied the head seamstress- Nala. Working with the expensive fabrics, crystals and ribbons had caught your eye from an early age, the Queen’s gowns in particular never ceased to amaze you. She always was radiant, her tan skin contrasting the silver silks she favored. Each drape of silver was ornated with countless embroidered stars, each holding a crystal in the center to draw even more light to her elegant form. Every stitch was performed by Nala, executed to the minutest level of detail for each gown. That truly was what became admirable to you, the precision, determination and elegance all to ornate the garments.

Your small hands and nimble fingers allowed you to be a perfect candidate to be the seamstress’ apprentice. Your young mind and desire to learn furthered you to be a wonderful candidate, and at the ripe age of seven you began to work to assist within the palace. Nala allowed you to come with her to fittings and even began to allow you to add little embroidered stars within the gowns and capes the royalty wore. You hoped someday you could begin to sketch and design the regal gowns, of course some tradition had to be kept, but new dress shapes, various capes, and different ornate details were something you hoped in your future you could present to the royal court. But you were still young and unsure when an opportunity to take the reigns on a project would come your way, so for years you contented yourself to be allowed to help Nala. Twelve years passed and with it came the development of your skills and prowess. At nineteen you could now design the ladies of the court their gowns, and once were given the opportunity to create the Queen a cape. Despite these advances you still desired more, hoping soon you could design even grander pieces. And, as luck would have it the Prince’s coming-of-age ceremony blessed you with your largest challenge yet, a test to prove your skill and display your talents- you were tasked in building the Prince’s attire. Every seam, stitch and hem had to be perfect, and while there was a lingering fear of the prince himself, the task was the breakthrough you had been praying for. Prince or not, this was your big opportunity and there was no way you were going to ruin it.

There was one problem to dealing with the prince, _his attitude_. He has a history of being cruel, heartless and rude to his servants who attended him. Usually it would take a week and he’d demand a new one, always whining that they were boring, disgusting or not compliant enough, and that was a lucky occasion of him not losing his temper. The number of servants lost to his rage, well that was more than the palace kept track of at this point. Despite this, you still gathered your basket full of cloth, pins and scissors, preparing to attend to his quarters to begin his fitting.

With a swift motion you tied your hair back, smoothed your apron, and lifted the basket, walking down to the Prince’s private wing of the palace. The floor was a cool marble, white with swirls of gray to break the surface into a calming pattern, illuminated by the trickling of sunlight filtering in through the windows. It was peaceful, the wing devoid of any noise aside from the occasional rustle of the curtains in the breeze, and your soft footsteps clicking to the grand door at the end of the hall. The door arched up far above your head, the black wood polished and glistening, the handle matching the onyx hues of the wood. You figured by now you would be able to at least hear some semblance of noise, but beyond the door it was still silent. A soft breeze lightly tugged at the gauzy curtains, cooling the hallway around you, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. You glanced around the hallway again, the chill persisting, leaving the lonely hallway with an ominous dread at the walls. Maybe this was a mistake. The prince’s attitude and treatment of servants alone should send you running, but you had a job to do, and he would not stand in your way, no matter the cost. Yes you would lie to keep your head, but being frightened of the Saiyan would do you no good.  
He is merely a spoiled Prince. You are here to measure him and then leave. Nothing else.  
You tried to reassure yourself, using the burst of motivation to push aside the lingering fear, you knocked softly on the door and listened for a response. There was only silence in return, no shuffle of feet, bed sheets moving, just the soft whip of the curtains in the hallway dancing in the breeze. You then knocked again, a bit firmer than last time, hoping he’d hear you the second time. Another minute passes with no response leaving you to question if he was even in the room. It wasn’t unprecedented for the Prince to be up early, but you figured someone might have informed him his fitting was today. Then again, he is stubborn, and probably just ignored them in favor of training.

_He might not even be awake yet. No, no, Prince Vegeta would not waste his morning asleep. If anything, he would be sparring. Right, of course he’d be sparring._

You gave one last try to the door, knocking thrice with no response, mumbling softly with irritation before putting your hand on the door handle and opening it for yourself. There probably was no harm to you setting up your supplies while you waited on him, after all he was the one who decided to likely ignore his appointment. With a slight shove the door gave and allowed you passage, closing it behind yourself to not disrupt the prince’s privacy later. The room was massive, the walls a regal maroon, large blue satin curtains draping over the windows, while the balcony doors in the far corner were open. His bed was the room’s center piece, likely large enough to fit five people, and covered in enough pillows to accommodate double that. Still, there was no sign of the Prince, leaving you to begin to set up your supplies for when he decided to take a break. Surely, he couldn’t spar forever, he likely had to eat anyways. Saiyans always seemed to need to eat. After witnessing one banquet you sometimes questioned how the planet had enough creatures to sustain their gluttonous behavior. But the warriors remained trim from the limitless training they attended to, always aiming to be the strongest.  


You stood waiting for a few minutes, humming to yourself to fill the silence of the room, but your knees began to ache so you retired to sitting on the marble, pulling out a spare swatch of velvet and began to embroider flowers along the edges. Each little stitch helped you pass the time as you awaited the Prince to return to his chambers. Finally, around noon steps could be heard down the hall, and a strong energy signature was flaring from the same area.

  
_Great. He’s probably pissed off from training. Maybe his sparring partner Kakarot got the upper hand this time._

As the signature drew close to the door, you rose to your feet and waited patiently for him to enter, knowing he likely sensed your energy and would not be alarmed when he entered. The door swung open, the Saiyan prince stepped through, a servant following close behind. Servant aside, your eyes were instantly drawn to the Prince. He was covered in sweat, bruises and gashes, likely from an intense training session, his muscled body clearly exhausted, yet his presence was like a void drawing you in. His eyes were focused ahead of him, brows furrowed in irritation.

“ _Damn it woman_! Can you not keep up for a moment?”

He quipped in irritation, turning back to look at the servant desperately trying to keep up, face red from exertion, clearly having to take three steps for every singular one Vegeta took. He glared down at her and pointed to the bathroom, clearly signaling to draw a bath for him. The servant swiftly nodded, fear clear in her posture as she practically sprinted to start it. You still were focused on the prince however, his intense gaze, sharp jaw, hair that defied gravity as it stood up, even caked in dirt and sweat it was still glossy and appeared soft. In your trance, you hadn’t noticed though his intense gaze went from the servant to you. His onyx eyes glared, and he stepped forward slowly, crossing his arms.

“And what are you supposed to be for? I have one pecking hen, I have no need for another servant to waste my time.”

His glare never faltered, but he appeared to be looking you over, his gaze raking over your body like a piece of meat rather than a person.

“I-I..” You lost your breath for a moment, faltering under his glare,  
“ I am here to do your fitting, my Prince. I have the honor of creating your attire for the ceremony in the coming weeks and needed your measurements.”

Vegeta looked over your body once more, then at your basket of supplies,

“Tch. Well clearly I am busy now, but if you want to be actually useful go fetch my lunch while that wretch finishes the bath, hopefully one of you can prove to be of use.”

You felt a rising heat come to your face, irritation sinking in at his pushy nature, your lips parting to retort, but instead you nodded once, knowing being obedient would be the better option for now. After lunch surely he would allow you to get his measurements. At least you had to hope he would be compliant.


	2. Kneel For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go to complete Vegeta's task, however upon your return, he decides to add more instructions.

As you exited the Prince’s room, you softly let out an exhale of irritation, adjusting your apron and glowering at the floor as you walked. Going into the project you knew he was not likely to be respectful of your station, but the fact he wanted you to retrieve his lunch instead of his own personal servant left a sour taste on your tongue. Not to mention the way his eyes raked your body for its worth, sizing you up like cattle to be slaughtered. His onyx orbs, albeit mesmerizing, were too difficult to decipher, even if when he gazed at you a rising heat came to your cheeks. Even now you felt a blush creep up, dusting your face with a pale pink glow. With a firm shake of your head you refocused, ignoring the sweet nothings crawling into your head like fleas needing to be exterminated. The journey to the kitchens beyond that was uneventful, only passing a few servants cleaning and carrying items around the palace. In all fairness it was about now that the council met to discuss the kingdom’s pressing issues, leaving the rest of the palace nearly empty. Yet it always felt odd for it to seem so barren, usually there would be advisors and maidens trailing after council members, or the royal guard would flock around the King and Queen as they began their daily tasks. In this silence there was uneasy peace, but as you approached the kitchens, the bangs of plates and pots brought the area to life. A cornucopia of scents, sights and sounds could be heard from the massive kitchen, plates being passed between cooks, servants running back and forth delivering ingredients while others took massive trays and quickly departed to find their masters. The hustle and bustle was such an opposite environment compared to the sewing quarters. Delicate hands dealt with every stitch, the room silent except for the pull of needle and thread, while the kitchen was full of shouting. It seemed intimidating to put it lightly, but you did have a task to complete, and if you even hoped for compliance from the Prince, being done sooner than later was likely the best call. It was not entirely clear where the Prince’s tray was, there were so many lined up to be carried, yet there was no sign or indication whose was whose. You furrowed your brows a bit, walking up to another servant and lightly tugging her sleeve.

“Miss? Could you help me a moment I’m not sure-“

You paused as the woman turned, her brow quirked up in confusion. She was an older woman, hair silvered from age, yet her face lacked the typical wrinkles, just a few at the crow’s feet of her eyes. Her hair was tied back in a white linen, the rest of her outfit the same as any servant, the black dress covered with a white apron, nothing truly extravagant. Her skin was a deeper olive, and her eyes were a honeyed brown, clearly someone who had been around the palace longer than you, likely from even before you were born. She squinted a bit at you, which reminded yourself you hadn’t even asked her your question.

“Sorry, I am here to retrieve the prince’s meal, I just don’t know where to do so. If you could guide me I’d-“

The woman chuckled, making you stop your rambling, crossing her arms and gesturing you to follow to one of the trays.

“First timer, huh? I guess he already got bored of the other one. Damn, she had been lasting a few weeks now. I figured he would’ve given her at least two months. Now, what’s your name? Might as well find out before he bursts a pretty soul like yours to pieces,”

She seemed to notice your skin paling at the idea of Vegeta blasting you, another chuckle passing by her lips.

“Oh come on, I’m just messin’ with you. He hasn’t done that since his early teens. They mostly just get reassigned. Now, c’mon, give me a name,”

You looked at the tray, then her, running a hand along the edge of your apron,

“(Y/N). But I’m not the prince’s new servant. I just was sent while his other one got his bath ready. I am supposed to be measuring and fitting him for his ceremonial garments. But, I guess he decided that I could run around as his errand girl instead.”

With that your burrows furrowed a bit more, grabbing the tray with minor difficulty. It was filled to the brim with dishes of meat, steaming hot and carefully garnished. You doubted they would last a second before the savage prince tore into them, but at least they looked nice for now. You began to walk to the exit, carrying the heavy tray before you heard the woman call out your name,

“(Y/N)! Hey, wait.”

She placed a silverware set and pitcher on the tray before nodding,

“Might want those too. No sense in having you run an extra trip and get him in a pissy mood. My name is Torrin, by the way. Maybe I’ll see you back here, maybe not. Just holler if you need help again.”

You smiled at her gesture, amused that you weren’t the only one who found his temper a bit trivial. You nodded once more, carrying the tray from the bustling kitchen back down to hall to the Prince’s room. The real trouble was figuring out how to open the door without spilling any of the tray’s contents. As you approached the door, you shifted the weight of the tray on your right arm and hip to balance it, scrunching your nose in irritation at the weight. Then with your left hand you opened the large door, pushing inside with your other hip and holding the tray in both hands in one fluid motion. The prince seemed to be in bathroom with the servant, you could hear his grumbling along with the panicked servant’s footsteps. You weren’t shocked he needed someone else to bath him, heavens forbid he must lift a finger himself to do anything except fight. A grin came to your lips at that idea, making your way to the large table on the side of the room near the balcony. Carefully you unloaded the tray and set up a place at the table for Vegeta to eat. First the large dishes of meat, then a few various sides of grains and vegetables, and finally the large pitcher filled with water and ice. Truthfully this spread could feed a group of four, but with the intense training the Prince likely burned more calories than most. He always was out on the grounds, sparring with Kakarot or Broly. Those two saiyans were the only two to match him in power level these days. Even the King was weaker than the Prince at this point, years after years of intense training will do that though. Between missions on other planets to conquer and utilizing the large arena the trio constantly become stronger, cusping the edge of a super saiyan. At least that was the current rumor spreading amongst the kingdom. The Prince certainly had the ego to ascend to the godly form.

It was about as you placed his silverware down that you heard noise from the bathroom again, lifting your eyes to see the commotion. What you did not expect to see looking back at you was a fully nude prince, walking to the closet and barking for his servant to dry and dress him. His form was admittedly handsome. Battle scars light traced his tanned skin, contours of muscle bulged, and as for the area below the belt, you chose not to linger your gaze there. As you tried to peel your eyes off his body, your face flushed a deepened shade of ruby. Your cheeks burned from embarrassment at first, but after a moment you felt the intense stare of the Prince, snapping you from your trance to meet his eyes- part of you wish you hadn’t. You uncomfortably shifted your weight onto one hip, then looking at the other servant to distract yourself. The little gesture made a smirk grow on the Prince’s lips.

“What is it now? See something you like? I thought they trained you to be more respectful than openly ogle your superiors.”

His eyes gained a wicked fire, then waving off the other servant coming to dress him, pointing to you, his smirk still on his lips.

“Since you’ve been staring why don’t you help me dry off and dress? Might as well get to touch before I terminate you for your disrespect.”

Your face drained of the blush at his last comment, your eyes widening with fear. You managed to take shaky steps closer, taking the towel and going up to the Prince, your gaze fearfully remaining glued to the ground. Slowly, you began to towel the Prince off, biting your lip and resisting the urge to flush again. Still, as you dried each muscled part of his form you couldn’t help but admire every inch of his skin. As you made your way to his chest, a finger went to your jaw, tilting your head up in one sharp motion to force you to meet his gaze. His grin was wolfish, eyes burning with hellish revenge,

“Acting meek, now are we? Tell me again why you are here?”

You swallowed, feeling as if you were shrinking under his burning gaze,

“I-I am here to make your garments for the up-upcoming ceremony, my Prince. This is my f-final project before I-I can work on my own...”

He tilted his head, the smile leaving his lips in an instant, replaced by a cold glare, shoving your chin down,

“Then learn some manners. You are lucky I don’t just paint my walls in your putrid blood. Get my clothes.”

He didn’t have to ask twice, you quickly went into the closet and grabbed a set of his training gear, assisting him in it before stepping back and keeping your eyes down.

“After lunch my Prince, do you believe I could get your measurements? I was hoping to start-“

“Yes, whatever to get you out of my hair, damn it.”

He ran a hand through his hair and sat at the dining table, looking at you expectedly, pointing to the ground beside him.

“Now listen. You are going to sit on the floor beside me and learn your place. If you wish to pant at the sight of my body, I suppose I will have to treat you as the pet you are behaving like.”

You glowered at his proposition, resisting the urge argue back in some way. In a sense he had you trapped. You could chose to walk away now and likely be met with the wrath of the Prince, you could tell him off and probably suffer a worse fate, or if you listen, you maybe, just maybe, can get his measurements and get the hell out of here.

_You only must see him once more when you put the final touches and adjustments. He can’t bother you after that._

Still glaring, you step forward to the table, going to his side and slowly sinking to your knees, looking up to him with utter irritation. You could feel a blush burning on your cheeks, only fueled more by the Prince’s infuriating behavior. Of course, the moment you sunk to the floor the same enraging smirk came to his lips. Your fingers instinctually curled around your apron, meeting his gaze with a glare, wishing to show some sort of resistance to the act even if you knew he’d view the glare pitifully. He laughed once more at your expense before turning to his meal and going back to ignoring you, reminding you that ultimately this was just a display of power, nothing more. He merely wanted to tear down any shred of dignity to keep you in check. You listened to him eat, keep your gaze fixated on the tile below you, trying to rid the burn of shame from your face.

_He’s an animal. Stuffing his maw and making sure the room knows he’s in charge._

The prince seemed to look at you on cue, sticking one finger under your chin again and sharply raising your gaze back up to his.

“No tears? What a shame, I’ll have to try harder next time.”

He rose from his seat, stretching his arms before gesturing the other servant to clean up. One hand grabbed the back of your dress and tugged you up to your feet ungracefully.

“Get your measurements. I have matters to attend to and I fear you’ll be hounding me more than you already have.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but as his hand was still on the back of your dress, you instead bit your lip and nodded, waiting for him to release you. The last thing you’d want to do right now is ruin the rare opportunity of his compliance. As his grip laxed you went to the basket and got a small notepad, pencil, and measuring tape. At the top of the page you scribbled his name and wrote the various measurements down you had to take, then returned to the prince.

“May I begin, Prince?”

After a moment he nodded sharply, and stood still, uncrossing his arms. You started with his ankles, then began to work your way through his body, being especially careful when measuring his hips and inseam. Then it came to his waist, chest, and neck, all of which you did with his gaze weighing heavily down upon you. You were close enough to feel the heat of his body radiating, leaving you to question why he seemed so warm. For a moment your gaze drifted upward to see if he had a blush, but even in the small peek his eyes met yours, and your body flushed with an unnatural warmth.

_Of course, he was staring, as if he couldn’t be more terrifying. He might as well have a ki blast to my head at this point._

Finally, you make your way up to the crown of his head, forcing you to make a semblance of eye contact with him. His brows seem to furrow in confusion, unsure why you are wrapping the tape across his forehead. Before he could question you, you frown a bit yourself and say,

“It’s for a headpiece. Likely a crown of sorts.”

He silently nods, and you write your final measurement down, closing the book. You go to return your items to your basket, looking up to him for permission to leave. He turned and walked towards the balcony, and to you that seemed like a sign of dismissal. You begin to walk to the exit, carrying your basket when you hear him clear his throat. You turn back to look at him, but his eyes are still watching the balcony, not even turning to you.

“Go drop off your basket, then come back.”

His head sharply turned to the side, grinning a bit.

“I think from now on you’ll be doing double duty. Besides, you’ll need me around to fit the garment. Until you are finished, you will be serving directly under me. Got it?”

You bit your lower lip, holding back a multitude of curses threatening to spill over, nodding weakly before pushing open his door and leaving to retreat back to your quarters.

_He is going to be the death of me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Hope y'all enjoyed, and hope to continue this series!  
> The spice is on its way, just got to have a tad more build-up.  
> You and I both want to get to the endgame ;)


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